


and fever couldn't kill his system

by fiddleogold_againstyoursoul



Series: all black (everythin') [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-15 04:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11222997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiddleogold_againstyoursoul/pseuds/fiddleogold_againstyoursoul
Summary: 'I don't know why you're mad at me.'Hate-sex with a lot of angst, violence and pent up emotion. Jack is a poster boy for a world Gabe can't have, and both are too damn stubborn to see that their pining is mutual.





	and fever couldn't kill his system

**Author's Note:**

> ends happy, dw.

'I don't get why you're mad at me.'

Jack stands there, eyes angry but also a little confused, a little hurt, and the combination drives Gabriel crazy. The latter takes a step backwards and lets a long breath hiss through his teeth, as if with it can go all his fucking _feelings,_ too. 

'I'm not mad at you,' he says, realises he's lying halfway through the sentence and sighs through the delivery. Jack catches it, like he always does. He may be dense, but not totally. Gotta have some brain cells hiding under that unruly tuft of blond.

'Yeah? Seems that way to me.'

'Just piss off, alright? Go run back to our superiors and rat me out for how  _irresponsible and immature_ I'm being, you're good at that.'

Jack's eyes flash over with momentary hurt that soon hardens into anger.

'I do things like that for the sake of our programme -for the good of the collective, not to - to _one-up_ you, Gabe! Why the fuck can't you understand that?' He takes a step too close, and Gabriel snaps, lashes out; Jack stumbles backwards, almost immediately lunging forward and returning the shove. 'Not everything revolves around you, you know? You're so fucking  _conceited, Christ -'_

'Don't talk to me about fuckin' conceited,  _Morrison._ I'm not the one with a fucking statue of myself.'

Gabe feels trapped in this tiny room, like the walls are closing in on them and he'll be stuck with this stubborn, stupid man forever. He makes to leave, but Jack snatches his sleeve.

'Stop fucking running away from every confrontation we have, it's cowardly.'

'Almost as cowardly as hiding behind a desk while the people who push your buttons fuck over actual good people for some preconceived notion of the  _greater good,'_ Gabe hisses back, and Jack hits him hard for that, right over the face.

His cheek stings. Jack stares at him, breathing heavily, and he looks sorry.

That doesn't stop Gabriel from tackling him.

'Fuck!'

They crash to the floor, grunting; Gabriel seizes Jack by the collar and the blond smashes hard fists into his face. There's a crack: blood begins spurting from Gabe's nose, and Jack falters long enough for the former to land a good few hits on  _him._

'You stubborn fuck,' Jack growls as Gabe rakes his fingernails over the blond's pretty fucking face, drawing red: with a pang of sadistic glee, Gabriel realises Poster Boy won't be as poster worthy after this session. 'Can't even take orders right and need people to cover your ass while you're -'

'Out there busting it, unlike you. You think you're so much more capable than me,  _Strike Commander?_ My Blackwatch boys could run circles around your force, and you know it.' 

Gabriel pointedly doesn't think of McCree, doesn't think of the hotheaded kid who's taking more after him than he'd like. He can't raise a kid, he can't even fucking take care of himself. Jack senses this - he always was too fucking perceptive in the worst of times - and his eyes narrow.

'Your methods are unconventional,' he says, _'illegal,_ really, just like how you got most of your recruits,' and Gabriel hits him again. They tussle, and Gabriel wins, eventually

_like he always does_

straddling the smaller man and pinning him to the floor.

'Fuck,' he breathes.

Jack pants. His face is cut up, and his nose is bleeding: his eyes are a little wild as they skid over Gabriel's face, daring him to do something more, break something.

 _do it, then,_ they seem to challenge.  _break me._

'You don't understand,' Gabe says, a hand on Jack's warm chest, his own aching terribly, 'You don't understand,  _cabrón,_ you'll never.'

A whim seizes him, and he runs his hands through Jack's fluffy blond hair, messing up the once perfect do. Jack's eyes flicker with irritation, and he paws feebly at Gabriel's chest, but Gabe isn't about to let him up anytime soon. He tousles the strands of gold, wishing his chest would stop hurting and his pulse stop racing, wishing Jack would stop being such a fucking stubborn idiot.

Wishing  _he_ would stop being a fucking stubborn idiot.

'You won't look so pretty for the cameras anymore,' he breathes, and Jack shivers. He looks so small, suddenly, and Gabriel's heart stops.

'You're a fucking idiot, Gabe.'

It happens too fast. One moment Jack's hands are scrabbling at his chest and scratching at his face, the next their lips are smashing into each other and he's seizing fistfuls of Jack's stupid blond hair as he chases the taste of cigarettes on the strike commander's tongue.

_bitter. almost foul._

'Thought you quit,' he growls, and Jack nips at his lip, scowling. 'You're a terrible liar, Morrison.'

It always ends up like this. Both of them know it. They bicker some more, and then Gabriel hauls Jack up by his belt, drags him down the hallway to his quarters: they're grabbing at each other all the way. Some god overhead is looking out for them, because they run into no one, a strange thing to say for such a normally crowded HQ. They shed shoes, clothes - Jack's stupid tie, Gabe's boots and socks - as they trip over to his tiny bed, barely big enough for him alone, much less them both. Gabe hisses when Jack digs hard fingernails into the meat of his back.

'You're begging to be tied down and beat up, Morrison.'

'Do it, then,' Jack snaps, hooking his fingers through the belt loops of Gabriel's pants and yanking him close. His breath is hot against Gabe's mouth. 'Fuck me like you're starving for it, you stupid fuck, it's all you know to do, anyw -'

Gabriel shoves him onto the bed and attacks his mouth, cutting him off midway. Jack twists, protesting, and Gabriel barely dodges a blow his way. 

He pulls away, swiping at the blood on his face with the back of his hand.

'You want me or not,  _cabrón?'_

'You can't have me that easy,' Jack breathes, and Gabriel feels something flare inside him. It isn't just arousal, though that does curl hot in the pit of his belly: there's also a deep, aching hunger there that grows as Jack brackets Gabe's body with his thighs, huffing hard with want. He wants to touch Jack, hold him, wrap his arms around tight and not let the cameras or the higher-ups or the stupid fucking omnics take this one thing away from him, ever.

'Fuck you,' he finds himself snarling, 'no more games.'

'This whole thing  _is_ a game, you idiot.' Jack hits Gabriel over the face again, and his vision swims; he feels Jack holding him, fingers soothing where he punch landed. 'You don't get it, do you? I'm not for you to push around, I'm not some blowup doll for you to fuck and be done with. If you want me, you're gonna have to work for it.' He drives this point home by grinding up into Gabe's erection, and Gabriel can't help the moan that slips out from him, the many that follow it.

'So you're a puppet, but not a blowup doll.' Gabe flips them around till he's on top, and Jack struggles to break free, but he must've been tired from all the fighting; he just slumps down with a small sigh. 

Gabriel lets go. Jack stares at him, eyes wide, and Gabriel realises the great Jack Morrison is  _scared._

It always ends like this, and they both know it.

It used to be easier. They'd slip into each other's beds for warmth, first, and then later on for something else. Do nothing sometimes but hold each other's shaking bodies and rest steadfast in their mutual convictions that this was safe, this was their home. Home could be a person. Home could be forever.

Then Gabriel had gone and been demoted, and Jack raised in his place, and all that comfort had turned into bitterness.

Home had turned into an anger management class where there was no therapist.

'You're mad at me,' Jack says. 

Gabe drops his face into his hands, and Jack's fingers stroke over his face, cheekbones, jawline, wiping away the blood trickling from his broken nose. Doctor Ziegler is going to have both of their hides tomorrow. 'You're mad at me,' Gabriel hears him repeat, and he can't help it.

He scoots in close and puts his cheek against Jack's, closing his eyes and praying he won't be pushed away. He isn't. 

Jack wraps his arms around him, strong and sturdy, and they both lie there breathing for a while, covered in sweat and blood and grime. Just...breathing. Gabe pushes away and presses his lips to Jack's cheek, too warm, and Jack shivers.

'Can't stay mad at you,  _cabrón,'_ he whispers, and Jack's breath hitches.

They peel off the rest of their clothes, this time slowly, driven more by want than anger. Gabriel kisses every inch of Jack's skin he reveals, unbuttons the blond's shirt and runs the stubble on his jawline over the faint, golden hair he finds; Jack's fingers card through his hair, tugging insistently.

'Sorry,' he mouths into the warm skin, and though Jack can't make it out he still shivers at the touch. 'I'm an asshole, I'm sorry, forgive me, I love you.'

_please don't think i'm mad at you._

He works at the zipper of Jack's pants, still nipping gently at the blond's stomach, and pulls them to his ankles. The boxer shorts soon follow, too tight for Jack's own good, and Gabriel palms at Jack's cock, relishes in the way the other man cries out at the touch.

'Jesus, Gabe -'

Gabriel hushes him, kissing softly along his mouth and then peppering kisses along his jawline. Jack doesn't say anything, just runs his hands over and under Gabe's shirt reverently, making a low keening sound in his throat. His fingers are hot, rough, hard.

Gabriel holds his eyes.

 _work for it,_ he thinks.

'You want it off?'

'All of it,' Jack murmurs, fingers curling against Gabriel's pecs, 'want all of it off, want to see you.'

It's like a punch to the gut. Gabe loses the shirt, buttons nearly popping off for how fast and hard he tugs at them, and Jack's hands move over his skin, nails gently scratching: worlds of difference from how they were pricking into his flesh before.

'Thought I had to work for it,' he says, unable to help himself, and Jack almost grins.

'You worked the whole day.'

'Mm?'

He traces the insides of Jack's thighs with his fingers, and the man curses, nails digging into his chest. 'Gabe, fuck, don't be such a fucking dick -'

'Sorry,' he says, sliding his hands under Jack's knees and lifting his legs over Gabriel's shoulders, 'I'm bad at taking orders, you should know that.' At the words, Jack huffs out a dry laugh. 'Condom?'

'I thought - well, I checked your medical record, and I'm clean, too, so -' Gabriel cuts him off with a quick kiss. He slips two fingers into Jack, and the man whines, makes as if to fuck himself on them. Almost instantly Gabriel is pulling away, and Jack twists in protest: 'Please, Gabe, I need -'

'I know,' he growls back, 'I know, and I need, too. Patience is a virtue, y'know?' and laughs when Jack punches his chest feebly. 'I'm getting lube, stop being such a needy fuck.'

'I hate you.'

If it were anyone else, under any other circumstances, it would've seemed sweet.

 _i know,_ he thinks, sliding his now slick fingers back into Jack's warm heat, _i_ _know, i love you, i know, i'm sorry, please forgive me._

Jack's body shakes violently as he adds a finger, then another, working him loose.The blond's face is flushed red, arms thrown to above his head where he's gripping the bedpost so tight Gabriel fears it will break, and he's muttering Gabriel's name under his breath on repeat like it's a prayer. Gabriel _has_  to kiss him, he does; he licks into Jack's mouth hungrily as strong thighs quiver where they're dangling from his shoulders. 'Need you,' he breathes, 'need you, Christ, Jack Morrison, you do bad things to me -'

'Take me, fuck me, you idiot, I c-can take it,' Jack pleads, and Gabriel is burning up from the inside out.

 _okay,_ he thinks.

He slides in slowly, which is torturous for them both. Jack is begging and shaking, sweat dripping from his forehead: he's a wreck, what with the lines of red on his face and the way his hair is tousled and the flush over every bit of bare skin he's showing, and Gabriel loves him and hates that he loves him. He stops and Jack claws at him, sputters curses until Gabriel starts thrusting into him and his swears turn strangled; they grab at each other and their hands slide off the surface of skin slippery from sweat until their fingers slide into each other's and they move together, irregular and out of sync but somehow still able to create some sort of janky rhythm.

Gabriel feels like he's short-circuiting. He shuts his eyes tight as he rocks into Jack, not bothering to disguise the broken way words are falling from his lips:  _beautiful, fuck, encanta tu culo, cariño, fuck._ He slips between languages, unable to gain proper control of either so they come out in a mesh of the two, as messy as he is. As messy as they both are, he thinks, grabbing hold of Jack's hips and angling his thrusts better. 

'Fuck, Gabe, fuck -' Jack throws back his head, groaning. Perspiration runs down into the hollows between his collarbones, between the golden strands of his chest hair and further down, over his toned chest, and Gabriel takes it all in like a pretty picture painted just for him; he takes Jack's cock in hand and strokes it as he sucks red marks into still warm skin, and Jack cries out. The bed shakes under their combined weight.

'So goddamned pretty for me,' Gabriel murmurs.

'Fuckin' hate you, fuck, _fuck,'_ Jack pushes his face into Gabriel's shoulder, pounding his fists against Gabe's chest. 

Gabriel is so close, he's so close, and he tries to convey this with some smartass remark, something that will throw Jack off kilter, but all that comes out is a strangled sort of gasp as he loses himself and empties out into Jack. The latter tenses around him, clenching, and Gabriel gives his cock a last, firm pump: he comes with a shout, flooding Gabriel's palm with warmth.

They pant as they untangle themselves from each other, trembling and sticky and so fucking vulnerable.

'Christ,' Jack mutters, settling himself back against Gabriel's chest, 'I'm dripping from you.'

'Made a mess, did I? I'll have to clean it up.'

He should. But neither of them make to do it.

Gabriel nips at Jack's ear, and a tired hand bats at his face; he slides into the sheets and tugs Jack closer, nevermind that neither of them will be here when day breaks, nevermind that after this everything will go back to what the tense state of  _nothing_ it was until the next time either of them snap and do something stupid and they end up here again. He breathes in the smell of Jack's sharp mint shampoo, throws an arm about him and neither of them say another word as they lie there, thinking about and wanting the same things but both too fucking dense to see that the other wants, too.

And Gabriel  _wants._

He wants to wake up to a warm bed with Jack still in it, kiss the man awake and stumble to the bathroom together. Share a shower as they tease each other with the solitary bar of soap and make stupid jokes when one of them drops it. Button up each other's uniforms and brush down stray strands of hair; Jack's hands pulling and patting Gabriel's tie into place and Gabriel kissing every single one of the pretty brown freckles he finds on Jack's cheekbones. Race each other to breakfast and act like such saps Jesse and Genji will throw the toaster at them and Ana will smile, and then they'll go back to work and -

And they'll fight again, and everything will go back to what it was. 

Gabriel fights the needling pain in his chest at the shattering of this daydream and ignores the way Jack's gentle breathing makes him feel like he's safe, ignores how easily their bodies slide up against and fit into each other, ignores how Jack's hands are rough and so are his and they make some kind of gentle picture together, ignores all that because it isn't about what he wants, it's about what's practical, and he knows for a fucking fact Jack Morrison neither loves nor wants to be with him in that way.

ignores. pushes away. 

He falls asleep eventually. 

When he wakes up, Jack is gone. The sheets smell like him.

 

* * *

  

Gabriel sits up, sweaty, awake. Jack is curled up beside him, snoring. The room is not completely dark: a nightlight in the shape of a bunny Hana got him for his birthday -  _for your bad dreams,_ she said, and Jack had laughed but his hand on the small of Gabriel's back had curled a little more protectively anyways - glows on the desk beside him, where there's also his mask. Reaper's mask, really. _Reaper,_ he thinks. Not me. He doesn't know if there's much of a difference anymore, some days. He reaches out for it, and Jack stirs. He freezes.

 _he couldn't want me,_ he used to think.

_probably what Jack told himself, too._

Gabriel, very slowly, pulls his fingers back and leans down to inspect Jack's sleeping face.

A long white scar runs over it. It's peaceful, but there's a hardness to the lines of his face that's worlds different from the friendly, open look Poster Boy Jack Morrison sported. If only they could see their hero now. Hardened and embittered by war and death. A raspy sigh rattles in Gabriel's chest, and he brushes his fingers over Jack's face.

He ignores the way, for a moment, his skin burns before it comes into contact with Jack's, flickers dangerously as the ends of his fingers threaten to dissolve into black tendrils or smoke. This body still rejects proximity. He will not let it stand in his way.

Not after all this.

'I love you,' he says, instead. 'I love you so much.'

Jack hums something in his sleep. Gabe isn't worried: he'll repeat the sentiment when he wakes up. They say it probably too much, anyway, for a coupla old fucks who look and walk and talk the way they do.

They can't yell at each other anymore. Hard words turn soft when they remember what they've both been through. Angry eyes melt into warmth, clenched fists open to hold hands and hold up the weight of them both. And if neither could be the stronger one at that particular moment, drowning in memories and grief and a complex emotion both understood too well? A bottle of whiskey could go a long way. Drinking wouldn't dissolve the trauma, but it helped to have your mind a little fuzzy as your partner ran his rough fingers along your chest hair and whispered something about your dick.

_(you know, cabrón, i ain't never had anybody compliment my dick before._

_it's very nice._

_you're very drunk._

_you're drunk, old man.)_

Despite himself, Gabriel smiles. He lies back down, trying to keep his breathing in sync with Jack's. The warmth in his chest is growing. He reaches out and pulls Jack closer: the warmth spreads to the rest of him, makes it hard to breathe.

His throat feels tight. His eyes sting. He looks at his arm wrapped around Jack and feels the life energy running through the white-haired man, feels keenly how despite everything he's still alive and fuckin'  _kicking._ His skin burns. He presses a kiss to Jack's forehead and his lips burn, too.

In spite of this. All he has become, all he has regretted.

Jack is here.

And so he believes there is light in the world yet. And love. And he knows...he is home.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
